Enjoying Sobriety
by koneko zero
Summary: Mello doesn't drink because Matt does, and losing the memory of the redhead's insane  and occasionally quite enlightening  babbling to the haze of even the best chocolate liqueurs is simply unacceptable.


**Title:** Enjoying Sobriety

**Characters & Pairing:** Mello x Matt

**Genre:** Romance, Humour, Angst

**Spoilers:** Episode 35 / Chapter 99

**Warnings: **Bit of swearing, since this is Mello and Matt.

**Summary:** Mello doesn't drink because Matt does, and losing the memory of the redhead's insane (and occasionally quite enlightening) babbling to the haze of even the best chocolate liqueurs is simply unacceptable.

I wrote this one for **jenwryn**, who had been talking a fair bit about gaming when I got a bit inspired (can you call it inspired when it causes this sort of rubbish to be produced?), so I hope you enjoy it a little, dear.

Ah, and many thanks to **powdered_opium**, who beta'd it for me since I was feeling weird about it.

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**ENJOYING SOBRIETY**

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**Mello absolutely** adores getting Matt drunk. For the obvious reasons, yes of course, but also for some happy side effects.

The main one being the way that increased blood-alcohol levels cause him to verbalise his more insane thought processes.

They'd never been drunk at Wammy's, all those years ago – they'd handled weaponry, reviewed some truly _gruesome_ cases, taken various drugs to practice fighting the effects, and learned to drive everything from a Vesper scooter to an M1A2 Abraham tank, but they weren't old enough to try alcohol. So it was here in Japan, downing sake and whisky and whatever the fuck was in that big green bottle Matt cuddled after his first shot, that Mello first saw his Lieutenant so much as tipsy.

In general he was very much like any other drunk, babbling and giggling about nothing with glazed eyes and twitching fingers. _Unlike_ most drunks he didn't inspire Mello's more homicidal urges, and he _did_ mumble things like, "plus one potion," before downing a shot and, "bonus file unlocked," at increasingly random intervals.

When morning and sobriety dawned, mention of the random catchphrases caused wide eyes, nervous twitching, swearing any naval commander would have envied, and a great deal of glee for the smirking blonde.

Who has since made it his mission to get Matt completely fucking hammered at least twice a week.

ooo

**Ever since** that first time together, Mello hasn't touched alcohol. He hadn't been a big drinker at any point in his young life, but he'd been known to do a little of the better liquors every so often. Especially back in LA. Ross had always been willing to share the best of his stash with the blonde bombshell that'd trebled their profits in the first three weeks of membership… Now, however, he doesn't risk it. A tiny part of him protests that it's because of the situation he's now stuck in, what with the task force knowing his name and that blade hanging ominously and constantly over his delicate skull, but mostly it's because the only one he'd want to share a bottle with is Matt. And no way in _any_ of the circles of Hell does he want to risk missing any of the boy's mutterings. Not only are they entertaining, but the blackmail potential is just wonderful.

He's managed to get over eighty quid's worth of chocolate out of him in less than a month.

Missing something? Even on the odd occasions he picks up the tab, it's not even close to being worth it.

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**So far,** he thinks his favourite peek into his little geek's stream of consciousness came when they "accidentally" pissed off some Yakuza (Mello is the first to admit he's been having some trouble adjusting after his stint with the Mafia) and, in the midst of a vicious brawl, Matt suddenly barked a rapid-fire, "left-left-ex-circle-triangle-left!"

Mello doubled over in absolute hysterics, just in time for an ugly-looking hammer to sail through the air that had replaced his face. Matt, to whom the situation looked far graver, roared what sounded suspiciously like, "BANKAI!" and started _doing fucking hand-signs_ before leaping on the last poor, confused bastard.

By the time he made it over to Mello, the older boy was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his face and he just couldn't haul enough air into his lungs. Matt's panicked (not to mention slurred) howls of "Cure! Esuna! Curaga! CURAGA!" did _not_ help the situation, and Mello would have passed out if not for the soft (if bloodied) hands that suddenly cradled and raised his face, bringing Matt's blood-stained, tear-streaked and entirely, heart-breakingly distressed visage into his direct line of sight.

Mello's laughter cut off so quickly that the red-head hiccoughed and started to tremble before the blonde grinned and offered a soft, "nice job," to reassure him.

Which earned him an armful of _very_ snuggly Matt. Usually Mello wasn't a fan of excessive or public cuddles (and most _definitely_ not excessive _and_ public ones) and would've clocked Matt a good one for it, but when he heard the soft sniffle of, "Save file," he couldn't help but wrap his arms around the younger boy and press a kiss to his cheek.

The mumble of, "Level up," had been even quieter, and the grin on Mello's face hadn't faded for a full two weeks.

ooo

**Honestly, without** hearing that mumbled phrase (daft as it was) the blonde would probably _still_ be puzzling over growing the balls required for That Conversation with his favourite geek. He had already known that he was quite hopelessly in love and lust with the gamer, but Matt's attitude in those first few months had been decidedly _mixed_. He'd be coolly professional one moment; then the sweet, friendly boy he knew back at Wammy's; then a bitter little bitch; then cold and pro again; then something worryingly similar to depressed; then apologetic; then something Mello couldn't quite decipher, as the look would only rule his face for about a second before his best inscrutable expression (which is really _irritatingly_ fucking brilliant – Matt's never needed those daft goggles over his eyes to hide his thoughts) would slam down over it; then cautious; then friendly again; then quite seriously _arctic_ and professional. It had been an absolute pain in the arse. Bad enough to be so disgustingly besotted with someone, but besotted with another guy, whose life you've now fucked up twice (that you know of), and whose feelings regarding you are so damn confusing that you're pretty certain that even _he_ doesn't know where he stands? Someone up there had better have been entertained, dammit, or he'd be _pissed_.

Not that he wasn't already. He was just a bit less, ah, _vocal_ than he would be otherwise.

For the record, he'd waited until the redhead was sober (and recovered from the most recent hangover) to talk.

ooo

"**Obtained Phoenix** Down! 1 UP!"

Mello wanders back into their 'living room' to laugh (he didn't snort. He didn't. He doesn't care what the neighbours think they heard) at the sight of his – once again – drunken partner, as he bounces up and down brandishing a couple of feathers obviously left over from The Pillow Incident last Monday.

"I thought Phoenix feathers were red." It's not a question. Mello may be a pedantic git at times, but he's not so awkward as to seriously start a debate on the colourations of mythical beasts. And definitely not with the resident fantasy expert. He'd lose.

Matt's bouncing stops, and he turns to Mello with a distinctly superior look on his face. "They've got gold and white markings, twit. These are from its tummy!"

"Really?"

"Really." The redhead looks so serious that Mello has to genuinely _fight_ to keep from not-snorting again. He very nearly loses it when Matt, blushing and openly nervous, and states, "Equip Mello: Phoenix Down."

Over time, thanks to Matt's drunken babbling compared to his obsessive ranting, he's realised that even his Lieutenant gets confused after the fifth shot. The giveaway was when he started rambling about Vaan and Ichigo three weeks ago – even _he's_ heard of Bleach's protagonist, having been in Japan for more than a day, and when he asked which one Vaan was the red-head looked thoroughly bemused until Mello explained what he'd said the night before. He only mentioned it the once though – the look of scandalised horror on Matt's face had been utterly hilarious, but the week-long bout of depression had been a trial and a half.

"Thanks, mate." He shoves them into his back pocket, understanding from the suspiciously persistent blush and almost terrified eyes that this is somehow vital to Matt's current happiness.

And the guy may be trashed and quite seriously tapped, and he may have absolutely _no_ chance of remembering this conversation in the morning, but Mello's "Idiotic Plan F" is being instigated in under a week and he damn well refuses to see his geek upset unless and certainly _until_ he absolutely has to.

He understands when he (just barely) hears Matt whisper, "Mello has gained a life," before he finds himself being cuddled again.

Then he's fighting not to cry.

ooo

**Mello knows** that he has to hurry. He knows that the longer he takes changing out of his excessively recognisable black leathers into the god-awful delivery uniform… The longer he takes, the more likely it is that this "iron-clad" plan will fail, and he doesn't want to waste Matt's loyalty. He can't ask the boy to take another risk for him after this one, and he can't act alone. This is their one chance.

He has to hurry.

He still checks the back pockets of his leathers twice to be sure he hasn't missed rescuing any of the soft tufts before boxing them up and shipping them off.

He nearly tosses the worthless bastard things out of the window when Matt's bullet-riddled car appears on the tiny screen by the steering wheel. The thought of the fear on his face when he thought Mello's skull had been smashed in is all that stops him.

That, and – although he'd never admit it, and can barely bring himself to consciously acknowledge the thought – the fact that the idea of leaving tiny little Near alone with no-one but the SPK to look out for him and clear up the mess he was sure to leave behind made him flinch violently. (He tells himself that he only cares because Matt liked the little bugger; it's one of only three lies he's ever told himself and not quite believed.)

In the end, of course, what he believes is irrelevant. A few wayward cushion feathers were never going to swing it in their favour. No matter how much love they were given with.

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Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it... If you have the time and/or inclination, please review. It really does help me! No flames please, but constructiv criticism is loved as much as praise.


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